


Answers

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [23]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Deviates at the end of 3x7, Extended AU scene, F/M, Fluff, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21572455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Brienne has a question for Jaime when they walk back from the bear-pit.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483640
Comments: 18
Kudos: 98





	Answers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DanyelN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyelN/gifts).



> A belated birthday gift for Danyel, hope you like it and may you have all the JB happy endings you crave!
> 
> After days of no writing and just posting whatever was lying in my repository, here's a bit of warm-up to get back into the groove again. Hope it has come out alright.  
> Good news : I'm all set to resume work on "A twist of fate"

_Why?_

As soon as her brain started working, the question began nagging her, the only thought in her head from the second they’d been pulled out of the pit. Jaime Lannister possessed many qualities, but selflessness wasn’t exactly a virtue he was known for. Twice, he’d put her before himself. Twice, he’d risked himself for her, once, losing his hand, and the second time, nearly his life.

A close shave with death for someone who wasn’t family was not a trait the Lannisters were famous for.

_Why, then?_

Careful to maintain a distance, Brienne stayed a step behind him. After weeks of pushing him around and dragging him through the Riverlands, the idea of straying within a foot of him felt awkward all of a sudden. He swaggered away from the chaos, victorious, and she followed in silence, the din around them reducing to a muffled silence, their escorts and the crowd that had jeered at her, fading into nothingness, the world around her shrinking to the one person she’d sworn to hate not many moons back. Off and on, she couldn’t help stealing covert glances at him, looking at him in a new light.

“I do not fancy him,” she muttered to herself, tearing her gaze away, finding it safer to focus on her boots, instead.

“Oh, you _do_ , wench.”

She stopped, stunned by his unexpected intervention, only after his response, realizing that she’d spoken out aloud. Had he sensed her pulse? Had he perceived her change of heart, her unusually bashful silence towards him letting slip a hint that something was amiss?

“I don’t,” she replied, sounding a lot less firmer than she’d intended to.

“You denied it last time too,” he said, halting to talk to her. “But I could see it in your face, plain as the sky above us.” Retracing his steps, he moved into the invisible circle of safety she’d drawn around herself. Peering deeply into her eyes, he proceeded to read her mind. “I see it even now. The intensity of your devotion, the extent of your love for Renly--”

“Renly?” The unexpected reference jarred her out of her musings, diverting her thoughts to someone who hadn't crossed her mind for days. 

“Of course.” He didn’t budge, nor did he release her from his inquisitive gaze. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

“I did,” she hastily leapt at the idea, using his assumption as a perfect cover to her confusion and the complicated web of emotions she was trying to find her way out of.

His expression changed, darkening his scratched and mud-covered face, but before long, he reverted to the hostile stance he assumed whenever he was around her, his tone rough when he told her off with a curt, “Now that it’s been established you’re in love with the pretty king, shall we go on? We’ve lost a good part of the day. There’s no time to linger around for a chat.”

While she’d never cared much about his bitterness before, his unprovoked brusqueness pinched her this time. Rebuffed, she trailed behind him, vowing to shut herself into a protective shell, determined not to speak to him for the rest of their journey nor react to any nastiness he chose to hurl at her.

“You’ll have to give her a ride, Kingslayer,” yelled the man who’d shot down the bear when they approached the steeds. “We’re one horse short.”

“Come on,” snapped Jaime, still oozing with unwarranted irritation when he strode towards his mount. “Let’s get our arses up there and make at least a few miles of progress before the sun ditches us.” 

“I heard him,” she barked back, wondering what could’ve irked him this much, “and I’m coming. You don’t have to be difficult about it.”

His eyes were charged with anger to the brim, the flames they shot forth, intense enough to reduce her to cinders. “I’m taking the reins,” he declared in the same aggressive tone. “You can get on behind me--”

“I’ll take the lead,” she firmly made her point, his incessant nonsense getting on her nerves. “You can ride behind me.”

His gaze fell to the wound on her neck before wandering down to her bloodied sleeve and lingering on whatever was left of the dress which was in tatters. “You’re wounded, you cannot possibly--”

“I can.” Leaving no room for further argument, she climbed on, taking her place on the horse. “Go on,” she mimicked the impatient tone he’d taken with her. “We don’t have all day--”

“Stubborn old wench, you still are,” he grumbled, shaking his head in exasperation. Glaring, he tried to seat himself behind her, but unable to hold on to his balance, he slipped. Again, he went, and failed this time too.

“Here,” she offered, holding out her hand after bearing witness to a third fruitless attempt.

“I don’t need your help,” he grunted. Ignoring her hand, he persisted with his effort, finding success, at last, after another go or two. 

She took charge of the reins, and on they went, out of the gates, away from the cursed town that had made her life hell for days. Peace prevailed for a while when neither of them spoke after that, and Brienne couldn’t decide what was worse - resolving the conflict within her or bearing with Jaime’s punishing tongue. For all it was worth, one good thing had emerged out of all this. Despite the whole exchange leaving her hurt and terribly upset, she was relieved that his prickly behaviour helped alleviate her agitation and the newfound feelings she couldn’t suppress. Hostility was better than having to deal with his proximity. His insults were easier to manage than her full-blown attraction to him. That this journey would soon come to an end, bringing to a close their explosive association was a comforting prospect, far less worrying than the dreams she had to wake up to--dreams that were predominantly composed of dangerously delicious images of him.

 _Not much longer,_ she reassured herself, ousting from every corner of her mind, the memories of his damp body pressed against hers. Filthy and scarred, he’d been, and barely conscious and terribly delirious, but that didn’t prevent the strange sensations he’d stirred in her that night when he’d stood before her, all of him bared with nothing between them but his terrible past - the past he’d chosen to reveal to her of all he’d known and trusted. 

A woman’s dream, he was, but not _hers_ , she was quick to point out to herself. Another Renly, she’d hit upon, the target of her affection hers to be admired only from a distance, her deepening love for him--

 _I’m not in love with him,_ she challenged this sudden and shocking wave of comprehension that had struck her with no prior intimation. Alarmed, and in her over-enthusiasm to clear her mind, she mishandled the reins, the horse lurching without warning in response to her lapse. Panicking, it picked up speed and started bolting off at a maddening pace, rapidly increasing the gap between them and the others who were now left far behind them, galloping along a path they weren’t supposed to take. Still somewhat distracted, she tugged at the reins to bring the beast on the track, but her brain refused to issue the requisite instructions.

“Careful, wench, you’ll get us both killed!” he yelled, then seized control, his stump around her waist, holding her in position with surprising strength. “Give it to me,” he grunted, bringing his other arm around her to grab the reins from her hand before she could object. Dazed and barely mindful of what was going on around her, she didn’t resist when he steadied the mount, bringing the animal to a halt after some distance.

“That wasn’t you,” he accurately noted, once he’d given them some time to recover. “You’re not one to lose control like this. Where was your concentration? What the hell happened all of a sudden? Why--”

She turned to face him, and he stopped, silenced by her abrupt movement. “Why?” she questioned him in return, ignoring his outburst.

His body pressing into hers, she could feel his chest heaving against her back, his breath, burning down her neck. “Why--what?”

“Why did you save me?” she demanded, keen to find out the reason. No one went out of the way for someone they detested. No one put their lives in danger twice for someone they had nothing but acrid words for. No one was as enigmatic as the Knight who held her heart, his actions a stark antithesis to the antagonism he harboured for her. 

“Well?” she prompted when he hesitated, parrying his razor-sharp stare with hers.

“Not all questions need to be answered,” was his blunt response after a moment’s pause. “Thanks to you, we’ve ended up on the wrong road. Why don’t we quit talking and get on with our journey--”

Extricating herself from his arms, she jumped to the ground. “We’re not leaving unless you answer me. I don’t care how long it takes, so why don’t you be quick about it and come out with the truth.”

“Then keep standing here,” he shouted, as adamant as her, “because I’m getting out of this place whether you like it or not, whether you’re coming or not.” 

“Go ahead, then,” she shot back, looking up at him, daring him to get away. “Leave. And don’t come back for me this time.”

His forehead creased in incomprehension. “What do you mean--”

“You hate me more than anything else in this world,” she cried, the frustration within her bursting out all at once, “except, perhaps, Locke and his thugs, so why didn’t you just abandon me this time and rid yourself of the trouble--”

He got off before she could finish. “What the fuck has put such preposterous assumptions into your head?” he asked, his eyes burning slits, spewing fire on her. 

Brienne scoffed. “Don’t underestimate me, ser. I may look stupid but I’m not as naive as you perceive me to be. You despised me from our first meeting,” she bitterly pointed out. “Ever since that fateful night, I’ve been seeing it in your eyes - your contempt, your disgust and nothing but revulsion for me. All you’ve done is fling me to the dirt with the force of your taunts at every available chance.” Angry tears stung her eyes, but she refused to give in, determined not to succumb to her conflicting emotions. “While I agree I’m responsible for the loss of your hand and I’m forever indebted to you for your help, you cannot just go on biting my head off like this every single time--” 

“Not once did I hold you responsible for my maiming,” he jumped up in defense, sounding more hurt than enraged. “Not that day. Not today. Nor will I ever think of it.” His voice was, for the first time, unsteady, devoid of its usual smugness and overflowing arrogance, and his eyes molten emeralds.

“That still doesn’t answer my question, Ser Jaime. Why did you return for me?”

Her demand for an explanation was greeted by silence-a spell of quiet she could neither tolerate nor find a way to put an end to.

“I dreamed of you,” he said, at last, and she didn’t know what to make of it at first. 

“A nightmare, you mean,” she interpreted, her heart sinking, her logic laughing at her when the subtlety of the remark and the hidden mockery behind it became clear after a while. “What else could it be? I’m glad, Ser Jaime, that our journey’s coming to our end,” she lashed out, the heartache she’d been through with Renly returning to plague her again, “that I’d never have to cross paths with you again--”

“Nightmare isn’t exactly the word I’d choose to describe a marriage, Brienne.”

“I don’t care what you call it--” she began, but when his words pierced through the cloud of rage and anguish that dulled her thinking, she withdrew the rest of hers, suddenly acutely aware that he was standing less than a foot away from her.

“Far from a nightmare, wench,” he murmured, trespassing on the narrow gap that marked her personal space. “If only you could visit my dreams and see for yourself.”

Her breathing quickened. “But you hate me. You always did.”

“Far from it,” he said again, his eyes making matters worse for her mental stability. A smile, he looked at her with, none like she’d seen before, full of warmth that burrowed into the depths of her heart. “I know you care for Renly, and him alone,” he stated, the smile faltering when the name fell off his lips. “Little did I know I’d react this badly to your love for him. I apologize, my lady, for making you the target of my helplessness, my frustration that I’d never be able to take his place in your--”

Her heart had forgotten to beat for a second, the rest of his sentence dissolving into an incoherent blur. Had she heard him right?

“We’ve only got a few precious days together,” he went on, his face downcast and his eyes sad and distant. “We shouldn’t be arguing about all this. I’m well aware I don’t deserve you, that you would never, even by mistake, fall for a man like me, an unworthy kingslayer--”

Before she could stop herself, she stopped him with a hand on his mouth. “ _Ser Jaime_ ,” she corrected him, shyly withdrawing her hand when she realized she’d touched him, “not the Kingslayer, and you’re far more honourable than you think yourself to be.”

“Brienne--”

“It wasn’t Renly who gave up a hand for me,” she continued to strip her heart bare, hoping tears wouldn’t overwhelm her into silence. “Renly didn’t jump in front of a bear to save me, Renly--”

“--isn’t going to be the one to marry you either, my lady.” 

He leaned in to kiss her, and all she could do was close her eyes in anticipation, to relish his mouth on hers, to feel him, his love for her, for never before had she been the recipient of a gesture as affectionate and passionate as this.

His lips were dry and covered with cuts, but they felt wonderfully abrasive, every bruise, when it met hers, sending out waves of pleasure that rocked her instead of the pain they should’ve stung her with. Far from the well-groomed Renly, he was, the scent of travel and mud and grime wafting off him, but far more irresistible than the handsome king, he turned out to be, his mouth in perfect harmony with hers, mating with hers like they belonged on each other. He tasted of dust and ale, the heady mix, instead of putting her off, flooding her with a feeling of intoxication that left her weak-kneed and unsteady. His calloused fingers, though a sharp contrast to Renly’s delicate hands, set her whole body tingling when they claimed her face, bringing up visions from some of her wildest fantasies that had nothing to do with the man she had formerly loved.

She wanted time to stop. She wished for the world to come to a standstill. She hoped for everything else to wait until she’d had her fill of him. 

And the gods heard her prayers.

Wrapping her in his arms, Jaime took her to a world that belonged to none but them, showering her with kiss after sensual kiss, each more aggressive and fiery in comparison to its predecessor, each showing her how much he wanted her, each telling her that he’d spend the rest of his life with her.

Like in his dreams. And hers.


End file.
